The Prize
by My American Fictionary
Summary: Historical AU – 1569: The Hōjō are defeated, their realms about to be cut up between their victorious neighbor clans. For outstanding services during the siege, General Naoe Nobutsuna is given a very special reward: the youngest of the Hōjō brothers.
1. Sixteen years eight months eleven days

**Author's Notes:** I caught the MoB bug again… I really, really want to update "Nights With Matches and Knives" but I made the mistake of looking something up in my Japanese history book and stumbled across the siege of Odawara. Well, and then this little scenario popped up in my head, jumped up and down there, yelling "write me, write me, you know you want to!" Hmph.

As a result, this one is historically incorrect on so many levels that I can't count them anymore. For example, I don't know if in feudal Japan prisoners of war were ever sent into slavery – and if so, how this would apply to members of noble families.

The final siege of Odawara happened in 1590 and neither Oda nor Uesugi were involved – the Hōjō under the lead of Ujimasa were actually up against Toyotomi Hideyoshi. Odawara fell, and Ujimasa and Ujiteru were forced to commit seppuku. I changed some of those facts and moved the fall of Odawara to Saburō Kagetora's lifetimes.

**Summary:** Historical AU – 1569: The Hōjō are defeated, their realms about to be cut up between their victorious neighbor clans. For outstanding services during the siege, General Naoe Nobutsuna is given a very special reward: the youngest of the Hōjō brothers.

**The Prize**

/\/

**Sixteen years, eight months, eleven days**

That morning – the last morning of Hōjō rule over Odawara Castle – carried the scent of cherry blossoms down from the elevated fortress over the battle fields into the camps of the besieging armies. Irobe Katsunaga had been to the castle before the war for negotiations. He knew that there were other flowers gracing its gardens – wisteria, morning glories, chrysanthemums – but the cherry blossoms drowned any other scent except for the salty tang of the sea right behind the castle.

Hours later when he entered the castle grounds on horseback, surrounded by the pitiful moans of the defeated and the victorious cries of his own soldiers, the stench of blood overlaid everything else. It had been a long siege. Hunger, disease, shortage of fuel – nothing could break the resistance of Odawara's defenders. In the end, the allied armies of the Uesugi, the Oda and the Satomi had to take the castle by storm.

And even then the outcome would have been uncertain if it hadn't been for young Naoe Nobutsuna's risky maneuver that took down the Hōjō's redoubtable contingent of archers. Naoe had paid the price while still on the battlefield when he took an arrow to the chest, right above the heart. After removing the greatest obstacle to their victory, he couldn't join his comrades when by midday, war had ended and they were taking possession of the Hōjō's ancient stronghold. Their archers had been the Hōjō's greatest asset in battle.

And their ninja, of course. Their wretched ninja...

Even now – Hōjō's pride lay in the dust, Nobunaga's banner had been run up over Odawara's walls – these creatures just couldn't accept that it was over for their lords, for them. Irobe felt something cold and heavy settle in his stomach when he came to the inner yard of the castle and found the entrance blocked by two of them. What exactly did they believe they were protecting now? The Hōjō were all but extinguished. Only a couple of their family members hadn't been found yet. But these two representatives of the infamous Fūma clan seemed bent on standing guard on the orders of their dead lord. The only difference now was that they actually showed their faces.

At the sight of them, Irobe's personal guard immediately drew in closer around him, alerted by the mere presence of these two slender figures in their black attire. Contrary to most in their army he believed the Fūma to be a highly skilled nuisance, a force to be reckoned with, of course, but not a bunch of magicians. They could bleed and die just like the rest of mankind – and they would if they didn't stand aside now. He saw the older and slightly taller one catch his younger companion's eye as a wordless exchange seemed to take place between them. Then the latter retreated towards the yard.

Irobe narrowed his eyes. One of the things that made the Fūma such formidable enemies was their ability to act as one in a fight. Never would they have needed as crude a method of communication as eye-contact in a situation such as this. He didn't get around to spend much time thinking about this odd phenomenon, though, as his men immediately engaged the remaining ninja in combat. Despite the high alert they had shown earlier, they didn't hesitate now as Irobe noticed with a flicker of pride. Open combat wasn't the Fūma's specialty, of course. They stroke in the dark, with daggers, with poison, by attacking locations of their enemies' bodies that were sensitive to acupuncture. As a result, it didn't exactly happen every other day that one got to witness them deploy their fighting skills – leave alone, one of them fighting for his very life.

It was terrifying and wonderful at once.

It was the end of an era.

The Hōjō were no more, and their demise would lead the Fūma into the obscurity of history, too. In the beginning, though, it seemed as if the ninja were able to take on all the Uesugi soldiers opposing him at once. Kicks were flying, grips to their limbs quick as lightning were rendering grown men unable to lift a finger. How long he could have kept this up, Irobe never found out, however. The ninja had decided on the precise moment when he wanted to die. He just seemed to will his own body to slow down enough for the deadly blow to fall. His pale, narrow face was completely calm. A strand of hair come loose from his pony tail was lying against his cheek. Irobe was able to register all those details exactly before the ninja was stabbed and tumbled to the ground as the soldier removed his weapon from the dying body.

He had chosen his death, Irobe came to understand. He looked towards the entrance of the inner yard. And his last mission had been to delay their entry. What was so important that was happening in there for this Fuma creature to sacrifice his life?

It was to be expected, Irobe thought as he directed his horse towards the entrance and the weeping of women reached his ear, that the soldiers were running wild in the aftermath of this long, uncertain fight with its high death toll. The more surprised he was by the downright reverent silence of the inner yard. Hoping to find out what had cast such a spell on his men, Irobe dismounted and approached his soldiers some of whom recognized him and made way for him to step into the yard. He immediately summed up the situation.

An old man was kneeling there in perfect composure, his upper body bared. Nagahide's breath caught in his lungs when he positioned a short sword in front of his stomach, determination in his eyes. Without haste, the old man drove in the sword almost to the hilt and then drew it right across his belly, through his intestines. The tendons emerging from his neck, a feral sound, half groan, half snarl, broke from his throat.

After a few heartbeats, a loud cry cut him off and a second figure that Irobe became aware of only now moved forward with feline swiftness. Light reflected from a blade and the old man's head landed on the ground with a soft thud.

The following silence was so absolute that a falling needle could have been heard. Irobe saw the ninja from before who had aided the old man's seppuku poising as if in a stupor, sword in hand. Long black hair was spilling over a slender back, so for an insane moment, Irobe believed it to be a woman, the old man's wife or daughter maybe, disguised as a warrior to escape being disgraced by the invading soldiers. Then the blade lowered, the svelte silhouette turned around and Irobe could now see that it was indeed a man who had dealt the final blow.

Or in fact, Irobe thought somewhat ruefully, he was little more than a child. The high cheekbones and slender nose in the fair-skinned, oval face bore no resemblance whatsoever to the Fūma clan. However, Irobe had seen faces like this on the battleground, their lightless eyes open to the sky. They belonged to members of the erstwhile ruling family of the Kanto region.

"Who was he?" Irobe asked with a quick glance at the lifeless body in the middle of the yard.

"Hōjō Genan-dono, my uncle," the youth answered in a melodic voice and confirmed Nagahide's suspicions.

"And that would make you…?"

"Hōjō Saburō, youngest son of the late Hōjō Ujiyasu-dono."

Ah, yes. If Ujiyasu had been alive, Irobe would have been hard pressed to say how this war would have ended. Most likely, there wouldn't have been a war at all. Ujiyasu had been more adept at maintaining a fragile peace than his oldest son and successor Ujimasa could ever have hoped to become. He had paid the price, too.

"Will you allow me to finish this?" the youth asked in a voice as calm and steady as if he were talking about calligraphy lessons and not asking permission to end his life. His eyes, though, said clearly that he was aware of the enormity of today's happenings. Irobe saw now that the black attire he had taken for a ninja's costume was in fact a wooden armor with the insignia of the Hōjō.

So many times during this siege, Irobe had wished that entire family to the deepest available pit of all the Seven Hells. But now – faced with this pale, exhausted child, so composed in the aftermath of what must have been the single most tragic event of his life – he felt something very akin to sympathy flicker to life.

"I cannot," he answered more softly than he had ever imagined to speak to a Hōjō.

The boy lowered his gaze under this last, in a way most fatal blow. It was all over: his family were dead, his clan defeated, any possession he ever could have hoped to inherit would be scattered to the winds. His life had come to an end, but he wasn't allowed to take the only appropriate action - something even the lowest of all peasants could have decided for himself.

Irobe saw and understood, but it wasn't his place to decide who should be given permission to flee his defeat.

/\/

"Not too long ago you served the lords of this castle." From his elevated seat in the back of his tent, way outside the gates of Odawara's castle, Oda Nobunaga the victorious warlord, swept his gaze over the back of the man who knelt before him on the ground. Technically speaking, he wasn't a vassal of his, but of the Satomi clan who had aided the Oda and their reluctant allies, the Uesugi, in this long overdue campaign to take down the Hōjō once and for all.

They had accomplished as much. Ujimasa and most of his brothers were dead either in battle or at their own hands, the rest of them facing the same fate. Now that the fighting was over, Oda intended to enjoy his enemies' downfall to the fullest. Or he could have done so, if it hadn't been for those aforementioned allies.

Since the Uesugi bore the brunt of most of Hōjō's attacks and in addition to that developed the plan how to get around their archers, Kenshin requested that his general who had been severely injured the day before the victory "be given the most precious and best part of all Hōjō spoils".

Those were Kenshin's very words, delivered by a messenger from Echigo, and they were the reason why Nobunaga had summoned this Hōjō renegade who had become a Satomi vassal only a couple of years ago after a severe conflict with Hōjō Ujimasa had him and his brother turn his back on their birth clan. "Of all men who fought on our side, you are most intimately familiar with everything inside those walls, every heirloom, every treasure the Hōjō owned. If there were but one thing you would give to your most deserving warrior, one priceless object –"

He broke off since there was an obvious answer to the question of what should be given to the man who had all but won the war for them. Odawara Castle needed a new master. Nobunaga knew that Naoe had been given a fortress of his own by Kenshin – a windy shit-hole on a rock somewhere in the northern lands the Uesugi called home. He had no doubt that the young general would have preferred Odawara castle with its gardens and beaches on any given day.

But Nobunaga wasn't ready to part with Odawara nor would he ever be. As it happened, this had been one of his favorite day-dreams for years: walking the crenellations of the Hōjō's stronghold, knowing that he'd crushed their pride, their very lives. He wasn't going to abandon that vision, especially not for Kenshin's self-serving ideals.

So he needed something else for Naoe – and for Kenshin to be satisfied with his vassal's treatment, it had to be something beyond compare. Now he could only hope that the Hōjō did own any such thing other than their beautiful castle and that it would be movable.

"Tell me, Matsuda-dono," he requested. "Of all Hōjō spoils, what is the greatest prize we won today?"

Matsuda Takahide lifted his gaze from the tatami mats on the ground of the tent. He was a bulky man, better placed on a battleground than in a palace. Not the cleverest kind of individual, but not without some amount of cunning when he had set his mind on something as Nobunaga had come to learn. Now, to Nobunaga's faint surprise, he noticed a smile lurking on the corner of the man's mouth. When he lifted his gaze to meet Nobunaga's, there was a glimmer in the depths of his eyes that the warlord couldn't make sense of. Memories perhaps of the days he had spent at court in Odawara, of laying eyes on what he was about to name?

"My lord," the Satomi vassal said finally, phrasing his words carefully. "There is but one thing of the Hōjō clan that I consider beyond compare."

/\/

They came for him as evening fell – the evening of the first day Odawara Castle had seen under foreign rule. The Uesugi general who had witnessed his uncle Genan's suicide had sent him to the small hall where they kept his brothers prisoners. Ujinori was badly injured and started developing a fever.

Against his better judgment, Saburō spoke up about his brother's critical condition and was met with crude laughter. He should hope for his brother's demise, he was told, for it would spare him a life in slavery. As it awaited him, Saburō concluded from that. The darkest days were indeed upon them.

The others had been spared, Saburō understood, feeling a desperate longing for Ujiteru-ani wash over him. His favorite brother had died first, in battle. Saburō had watched it happen from the walls of the castle, bow in hand, but still unable to prevent his death. The first war-dead in their family of this generation. But Ujitada and Ujimitsu had followed soon. Ujimasa had committed suicide when the gate was crashed open or so Saburō had been told. And now Ujinori would die a dog's death after fighting so bravely…

All this left Ujikuni who had gone stone-cold and silent. He sat next to Saburō in the tiny shed where they had been placed, separated from the other prisoners of war. A couple of times, Saburō had believed he heard his sister-in-law's voice somewhere nearby and even mentioned as much to Ujikuni, but it didn't coax a reaction from his brother. Therefor it came as a complete surprise to Saburō when they overheard one guard talking to another that Saburō was wanted in Oda's headquarters, Ujikuni immediately drew the according conclusions.

"No, by the Gods, you're not taking him!" it burst from Ujikuni's mouth.

Saburō started struggling when he saw one of the Oda soldiers hit his brother in the face with the blunt end of a spear. Their eyes met, all of Ujikuni's unvoiced fears plain to read for Saburō. It struck a strange chord with him that his brother would consider the more heinous possibilities of what could befall him when his whole family had been so blind about what had happened a couple of years ago right under their collective noses.

Odawara hadn't given him protection then, much less would it do so now, full of enemy soldiers who hadn't touched a woman in months. If nobody had tried to force Saburō yet it was only thanks to the fact that nobody could be certain by now about what was to happen with the captured Hōjō family members.

He held Ujikuni's gaze as he was yanked away. _This is nothing, _he wanted to say,_ nothing I haven't lived through before. _

/\/

Nobunaga was pleased with the latest development regarding Naoe Nobutsuna's reward. A boy – and be he the youngest of the infamous Hōjō brothers – he could do without. He had enough pretty playthings. Even if Matsuda claimed the boy was beautiful beyond the imagination of mortals – that kind of thing was said of too many young boys.

Kenshin who harbored similar preferences would appreciate the gift for what it was and his general was the ideal receiver. Naoe Nobutsuna struck Nobunaga as one cold son of a bitch, a man who would never choose the fulfillment of carnal desires over the realization of his ambitions. And ambitious he was – he certainly made no pretense of that. Experience hadn't yet taught him how imperative it was to pursue his objectives without stepping on his peers' toes all the time. The young man seriously needed to be taken down a peg or two. This affront disguised with a pretty face might very well do the trick, Nobunaga thought gleefully.

But the important thing was that neither Kenshin nor his general could lay claim to Odawara castle now or later. A boy would come Nobunaga much cheaper than a fortress. And everything else aside, he smiled to himself, the little transaction would infuriate Takeda Shingen beyond measure. Matsuda had told him that the boy had been a hostage in Kai as a young child – and that Shingen had gone as far as to adopt him. "That's why they called him Saburō when he was in fact the eighth son of Ujiyasu's, the seventh to survive to adulthood."

It was getting dark when the soft clinking of armors announced the return of the guards Nobunaga had sent to the castle to collect Naoe Nobutsuna's prize. A slender figure clad in the plain, uncolored garment typically worn underneath a samurai's armor was manhandled into the tent and more or less thrown to his knees in front of Nobunaga.

Ah. He could see at once what Matsuda had been talking about, even though the boy kept his gaze lowered to the ground the whole time. Even so Nobunaga received the impression of a fine, even bone-structure, unblemished skin and long lashes resting on high cheekbones. Black, silky hair had come loose from the ponytail it had been tied up in before.

Yes, Nobunaga could see why such a pretty face would trouble a hick like Matsuda. The man had gone very still a few seats next to him, his eyes fixated on Hōjō Ujiyasu's youngest child. Again, it made Nobunaga wonder what memories connected the Satomi to this boy. Then again, he was hardly the only one present who'd forgotten decorum at the sight they were presented with.

Hōjō Saburō had frozen on the ground in a position that would have looked awkward on anybody else. With him, it seemed that he had left all considerations of his body behind by now – anticipating perhaps what fate had in store for him. Nobunaga caught sight of more than one respectable _bushi_'s attention being captured by their young prisoner. He decided to get to the point before any of them got their hopes up.

"Irobe-dono," Nobunaga addressed Kenshin's spokesman, the oldest of the Uesugi generals present. "The youngest son of Hōjō Ujiyasu is to be given to General Naoe Nobutsuna as a reward for outstanding services to our just cause."

Irobe froze while a murmur went through the room and died down again. Generals Yasuda and Kakizaki who were flanking their elder, exchanged looks that clearly spoke of how aghast they were at this unexpected turn of events. Nobunaga suppressed a smile at their thinly disguised irritation. They were perfectly able to put two and two together and detect the reason behind this move of his. Most likely they had also hoped for Odawara castle to go to one of their own. And now this. It was a deft move, a subtle insult to their injured companion's achievements, hardly able to ward off for how could they speak up in public now?

Irobe's frown seemed to have different causes, though, as Nobunaga realized with some astonishment. He followed the old Uesugi general's gaze to where the youngest of the Hōjō brothers knelt. There was concernment there, a kind of regret that seemed all the more remarkable among all the leering stares the boy had been receiving since they'd brought him into the tent.

However, it was impossible for Nobunaga to tell whether Saburō had become aware of either the stir he was causing or the announcement and what it meant for him. His eyes alone might have betrayed what was going on behind that aloof facade, but he had cast them down when he entered the tent and never lifted his gaze from the ground.

"Show your face, boy", Nobunaga ordered, egged on by the prisoner's attempt at escape from the world.

With almost imperceptible hesitation, Saburō lifted his head.

As the Oda's chronicler was later going to put it, "the fertile lands, the majestic castles, the finest weaponry, all gold and jewelry paled before the heavenly beauty of Hōjō-dono's last-born son."

_Truly,_ a small voice echoed in the back of Nobunaga's mind. _Beyond compare. The Satomi filth was correct. His eyes… they're like a wild animal's._

And this was also what made the boy special, he understood. Not his physical beauty, but what shone from his unusually colored eyes. The contrast between his subdued demeanor and that fiery spirit couldn't have been more harsh._ What might one call this hue,_ Nobunaga wondered._ Gold…amber? _

Nobunaga had stopped being attracted to appearances a long time ago. Certainly, it didn't hurt if a bedmate was good-looking, but to instill a prolonged desire in him, he had to possess a certain strength of his own – at least some will-force, some sort of character.

Unfortunately, there weren't a lot of people falling into this category.

Even among the noble classes, there were those born to lead and those born to follow. Nobunaga had always understood that. And he understood now that this last-born son of Hōjō Ujiyasu's was of the former kind. Not even the recently suffered tragedies could take that from him. What a daimyō this child could have grown into in a different life where he wouldn't have been the youngest of seven brothers, where his clan wouldn't have been defeated and extinguished.

_Others would have cowered,_ Nobunaga thought, exhilarated by the cold fire that met his gaze as if the boy had temporarily all but forgotten about his precarious situation. _Others would have bent._

Breaking a spirit this strong promised immeasurable delight.

Regret gripped him, but it was too late now to take his own words back. As Nobunaga had announced in public, Saburō would go to Kenshin's general and sweeten that one's nights from now on. He made a gesture to the guards who yanked the boy up from the ground again and directed him towards the entrance of the tent when it happened.

Being turned around, Saburō's eyes fell on Matsuda Takahide who had sat in silence throughout the announcement, without calling attention to himself. Saburō didn't exactly freeze when he recognized the man, but it seemed as if he were holding his breath for a long second. Of course, he was bound to recognize his brother's former retainer, a traitor to the Hōjō clan twice over and now witness to their ultimate defeat.

As for Matsuda –

Nobunaga frowned ever so slightly at the shine in the Satomi vassal's eyes. This was more than just the gloating of a renegade who had picked the winning side after all and now wanted to rub it into his former clan lords' faces. It seemed to be personal, aimed at Saburō himself and not so much at the fact that he was a Hōjō.

Again, Nobunaga found himself wondering about their history. Matsuda must have known Saburō for a long time, he mused. He'd watched him grow up, grow more beautiful day by day, become more and more untouchable… For obviously, it would have been completely out of the question for a vassal to ever as much as lay a fingertip on his lord's own son. Which didn't mean, though, that he didn't harbor any desire for the boy.

Was that it, Nobunaga wondered. Embittered that he couldn't take the boy himself he had eagerly played his part in subjecting him to that humiliation at the hands of another? _My, my. This one's mind certainly makes for a fine cesspool,_ Nobunaga thought.

Then again, if anybody could bring out such twisted desires in a man, it would be this golden-eyed youth.

/\/

Saburō looked into the eyes of his tormentor and thought, _it was his doing._

If there had been the slightest doubt in his mind about Takahide coming up with the idea of bartering him away to this still faceless enemy general, it would have been extinguished at once by the expression the older man wore. He wasn't exactly smiling, but his eyes conveyed a mixture of satisfaction and excitement that was oddly contradistinctive to the stupor Saburō found himself in at the sight of him.

_He remembers the red moon and now he wants to pass me on to this Uesugi general hoping that he will give me new nightmares. _

During the last year, he had sometimes imagined coming face to face with the Matsuda brothers or any of their companions again. The siege of Odawara and the participation of the Satomi had made it a likelihood after all. The fall of the castle and all those deaths in his family had stirred his thoughts from that trail somewhat, but as a matter of fact he had feared somewhat that Ujimasa might come face them in battle – and that they might tell him of… that night to unsettle him.

_**If you want to hate somebody, hate your brother!**_

He had avoided that pitfall, had protected Ujimasa from that knowledge, but now new horror gripped him. Would they learn about what had happened, Ujikuni and Ujinori? There was no way he could prevent Takahide from confronting them about it.

And he knew it, too, Saburō could read it from his face that he was aware of holding that sword above Saburō's neck. His thoughts were racing, fluttering through his mind like caged birds, so he became aware of movements in front of the tent only dimly. A puff of air hit his face when a soldier in the armor of the Oda passed him on the way to the podium where he sank to his knees. "My Lord Nobunaga. Your order has been executed."

"Ah," the warlord said as if only now remembering giving said order in the first place. With an air of satisfaction, he addressed the assembled officers: "My clan, my brothers in arms, bushi of the Uesugi and the Satomi. Tonight we celebrate the fall of the wretched Hōjō clan. In their arrogance, they believed that they could set themselves up as the rulers of Japan, that they could enforce their will on us all. Their schemes failed them when they encountered our combined forces in open battle. And tonight I have forestalled their plans once and for all times."

Presentiment made the hairs in the back of Saburō's neck rise as Nobunaga paused for a moment during which every soul in the room seemed to hold their breath. Then the stroke fell.

"The Hōjō are no more."

Saburō heard the words but as soon as they were uttered a different sound rose to his ears, almost drowning them, like the roar of rapid water. His gaze flitted about the room for a few heartbeats, then stilled to complete numbness.

_They killed them. _

They had taken him away and then killed them. No. Ujikuni had been allowed to commit seppuku. And Ujinori? Had they just left him to his fever? The interior of the tent began to swim before his eyes, although it weren't tears veiling his gaze. Darkness flickered at the edges of his field of vision.

"Come", a harsh voice reached his ear. Someone grabbed his arm – to prevent him from falling or to lead him outside as they'd been on the verge of doing anyway, Saburō never found out. He stumbled along, blind to the way he was led on. On the hem of the man's robes he noticed the Uesugi coat of arms. Were they collecting their prize now?

The void in his mind suddenly filled with but a single thought: that everything he had ever suffered had been justified and worth the pain because of the Hōjō name. As long as he could tell himself that his own sorrow was insignificant compared to the fate of his clan, he'd been able to overcome any hardship, but –

_This is the end. _

With the conquest of Odawara, his very foundation had broken away from underneath his feet. His clan was erased and shamed in defeat. He was enslaved and to go to one of the victors, who could do with him as he pleased. A thin veil lay between him and his own insanity.

Despite having been raised in a temple, Saburō had never considered himself a devout person. His mind was empty of names safe a precious few – the Kannon, the goddess of mercy, the war god Bishamon-ten, the patron deity of the Uesugi. He found his spirit reaching out into the unknown, into what not even the most pious could claim to know for certain that there was indeed someone or something out there who would listen to his prayer.

His plea for death.

/\/

**Author's Notes:** Man, this turned out a lot darker than even I imagined when I came up with this unhappy little plot… Seriously, war is no fun *roll-eyes* Thankfully, this is just a fic – darkest before dawn and all, you know.

Next chapter: enter Naoe Nobutsuna :-)


	2. Sixteen years eight months twelve days

**Author's Note: **On we go! The cine-enthusiasts among you will recognize a scene I borrowed from the movie "The Piano" because it fit in here perfectly.

Enjoy :-)

/\/

**Sixteen years, eight months, twelve days**

/\/

"No." In the half-light of their tent, Matsuda Katsuhide whirled around to face his brother. "This can't be true."

Takahide merely gave a tiny nod to indicate that he'd been heard correctly.

"After years, we were close to him like never again since –"

"There is no way they would have let us keep him," Takahide interrupted his brother, "even if we'd found him ourselves in time. " He knew that Katsuhide had entertained such thoughts. They had even spoken about it several times during the siege, how close this brought them to Saburo again.

"But to tell them of him! To rouse their interest in him like this!"

Takahide suppressed a sigh. Did his brother honestly believe that they could have kept Saburo a secret from everyone else within Odawara's walls? "Nobunaga-dono asked me what I considered most special of all the spoils of war amassed. I answered honestly."

Katsuhide's eyes narrowed in complete lack of understanding. "Why? Don't you remember what it was like – "

"Because he is a curse," Takahide cut his brother short before he could be reminded too clearly of the myriad ways in which their former charge knew to please. "Do I have to remind you of what befell those who were with us that night? Everyone who touches him contracts madness."

Their eyes met, Katsuhide shuddered being reminded of the bad end the others in their little group had come to.

"Everyone," Takahide whispered and watched as realization slowly dawned in his brother's eyes.

"And now you hope the curse will strike down on Naoe-dono?"

A silently blistering anger on Takahide's accompanied each and every mention of the aspiring Uesugi general these days. Naoe had crossed him several times during strategy meeting throughout the war: a sanctimonious opportunist, smooth-talking those who were of use to him while being sarcastic and condescending towards those he considered beneath him. That included the Matsuda brothers and almost all the rest of the Satomi officers.

It was too bad that the Uesugi were returning to their homeland soon and Takahide wouldn't be there to see the effect Saburo would have on Naoe's frigid nature.

Takahide smiled. "Do we understand each other now?"

Katsuhide's face expressed both the strong impression his brother's scheming made on him and his reluctance to let go of the idea of getting his hands on Hojo Saburo once more. He regretted deeply that he hadn't been able to get another taste of the boy before he was handed over to the Uesugi.

Takahide was left with the uncomfortable feeling that he hadn't heard the last of the whole affair.

/\/

Naoe Nobutsuna, war hero and at twenty-five years of age the youngest general of the Uesugi army, was inches away from flying into a violent rage.

Of course, for anybody who didn't know him extremely well it would have been impossible to tell. Outwardly, he presented his usual calm and controlled self – or as calm and controlled as it was possible to appear on the sickbed to which an enemy arrow had sent him mere hours before the war had been won. The day had passed in a blur of pain and troubled sleep.

At least, he would live or so they told him, if he didn't catch gangrene. Kenshin-ko himself had sent a physician to look after his wound, so Naoe knew he was in the best hands possible. Everything else was up to fate. He refused to give the possible outcomes too much thought.

Still, he was in considerable pain. Said pain would have tried his patience in any case but recent news from the assembly in Oda Nobunaga's tent strained it almost beyond what was bearable. After all he had accomplished in this war, after all he had invested, rarely sleeping more than five hours per night for months, not shying from the most dangerous and unpromising missions – they dared fob him off with a _slave_?

Odawara Castle – now that would have been a reward appropriate for his endeavors. But strategic importance aside, Naoe imagined that the Hojo stronghold had a special place in Nobunaga's heart. How could it not? Naoe had been on many campaigns with Kenshin-ko from a young age onwards, seen a lot of territories and lands owned by various clans, foes and allies, but rarely had he laid eyes on a more magnificent castle: shining white walls, delicately-shaped stairways and roofs with shimmering tiles.

But its most beautiful asset was the gardens behind the castle, sloping gently towards the beach. He had seen them only once when he'd been part of Kenshin-kō's delegation to Hojo Ujimasa right before the war. At that point in time, all indications were that they would settle their differences without bloodshed, but even then, Naoe had for a short while imagined what it would be like to be the master of this splendid palace – and whether open war would give him a chance at winning it for himself. His own family's hereditary castle – even though situated by the seaside – fell short by comparison.

At the thought of what his spiteful, ever-nagging father in law would have to say about this outcome, Naoe finally got up from thin futon. He staggered towards the entrance of his tent and grasped one of the poles as he stared into the approaching dawn.

"Are you sure you should be up and about yet?" Yasuda Nagahide asked. Ever since he had broken the news to Naoe about his so-called prize he had been blessedly silent.

"Why ever not?" Naoe asked in a slightly raspy voice in spite of the vertigo that had gripped him. He imagined Nagahide shaking his head about his stubbornness.

Among Kenshin-kō's generals, they were closest in age, a fact which made them natural allies as well as natural competitors when it came to sharing spoils of war, rank and recognition among the Uesugi. Naoe hadn't gone as far as to confide his ambitions in detail to Nagahide, but his companion knew perfectly well which high hopes he had set on the outcome of this war.

He'd left nothing to chance. From the very beginning of the siege, he had made himself indispensable both on the battlefield and in diplomatic relations with the other clans. In the process, he had made not only friends, Naoe knew perfectly well. His mood blackened even further as he imagined his adversaries' gleefulness as they remarked amongst each other on how he had reached for Odawara castle, but instead received a pretty plaything – or at least Nagahide had mentioned that the boy was good-looking. Which he better be, Naoe thought sarcastically, if the brat was considered worthy payment for a castle.

/\/

Saburō awoke with a start and instantly remembered that he was dead.

They were all dead: his brothers, his uncle, most of their retainers. The Hojo were destroyed. Oda's banner flowed over Odawara. All of this made him – a living dead, Saburō mused, the last remains of a rule fallen down and scattered to the wind.

Saburō vaguely remembered that right before the war, before Oda had appeared on the scene and things escalated quickly beyond their imagination, there had been talk of a peace treaty between the Uesugi and his blood clan. With a guilty conscience he now recalled his foolish relief at the treaty not being concluded. Not wholly without foundation, he had suspected it to include an exchange of hostages as it was so often the case during peace agreements between clans. And if that came to pass, it was as clear as daylight to him who would be sent by the Hojo.

He had miscalculated, it turned out. War hadn't spared him from being ordered away Odawara. Again he was to go and live among strangers far from his homeland. However, there was an interesting difference between being sent as a hostage and being taken as war booty: there was no clan any longer that sent him and held a protective claim over him from afar, however fragile it may be. The Uesugi would have to answer to no one if they abused or killed him.

And, of course, what he left behind now was no longer his home. The people which had made it so were no longer alive. His whole family – dead. His clan – extinguished.

Saburō knelt in the first light of day in what had been a small side room to his brother Ujimasa's apartments, focusing on his breathing in hopes that it would make the pain subside. What would his father have done, he wondered, had he been standing in his shoes now. What would he have wanted him to do? His older brothers, his Uncle Genan – what would they expect from him now?

Seppuku was the obvious way out, but it had been barred to him. Belonging to the defeated, he would have needed the victors' approval to follow through with it. It didn't seem as if they were going to change their minds on the matter.

Vengeance also featured heavily in his mind, his upbringing providing him with the mindset that required such a train of thought. However, revenge for the downfall of a daimyō was typically wrought by his retainers not by family members, especially not fledgling brothers. Or at least, Saburo had never heard of such a thing.

Ujiyasu-dono in such a situation most likely would have summoned the Fūma and sicced them on Oda Nobunaga. Saburō couldn't do this. The Fūma were no longer, either. A bitter laugh almost escaped his throat. They had all been so busy saving their own honor – Genan and Ujimasa by committing suicide, Kotarō by seeking out his own death in battle.

He was completely on his own.

Footsteps approaching made him raise his head apprehensively. A young man in the armor of a Uesugi lieutenant appeared in his field of sight, flanked by two guards.

"I am Kakizaki Haruie", he said. He didn't bow so neither did Saburō although – as a lowly slave – he probably should have done so. He realized he didn't know how to do this: being a servant. There were all kinds of rules and requirements he wasn't aware of because he had never looked at the world from this perspective before.

Then again, Kakizaki didn't seem to take umbrage. He was bound to know who Saburō was and how he'd fallen from grace. They might very well be a bit at a loss about how to treat him, Saburō figured.

/\/

It was hard not stare.

Kakizaki Haruie had heard received hints of what to expect when he came here if one could call it that. After they had seen the last surviving member of the Hōjō clan, fellow nobles Haruie never would have thought had it in them sang his praises. Haruie's own father had gone as far as to mutter something to the effect into his boots. Haruie had rolled his eyes and taken to polishing his _katana_ only to be interrupted by a messenger from Irobe Katsunaga who ordered him to go fetch Naoe Nobutsuna's prize.

Witnessing negotiations prior to the war, Haruie had met several other members of the Hōjō clan. They were a good-looking family for certain. But none of them possessed the delicate beauty of this adolescent. They seemed about the same age, Haruie figured, even though the Hōjō boy was considerably lighter and smaller with slanting eyes the color of dark amber in a fine-boned, porcelain face.

His perfect composure seemed astounding to Haruie. Had he been in Hōjō Saburō's place, he would have thrown a tantrum – or several. Yesterday's happenings must have come as a shock to him. The war had been going on for several months and he must have entertained thoughts of an unfortunate outcome from time to time, but was it even possible to apprehend the worst?

Sympathy gripped him, he couldn't help it. Haruie tried to remind himself that this was the enemy. For months, his own thoughts as much as everybody else's in the Uesugi clan had been preoccupied with nothing but the defeat of the Hōjō. He hadn't been exactly crestfallen when he heard of the end they had come to. But for some reason it was difficult to associate this boy with the rest of the family or the image they had in Haruie's eyes.

It was difficult to address him, Haruie thought. Until yesterday Saburō had been his superior in power and standing, now he was to be treated as a piece of possession, the lowliest of servants.

"I will take you to Naoe-dono," he finally said. Saburō spared him the embarrassment of having to give an actual order by getting up from the ground immediately with a graceful, fluent movement that once again made Haruie do a double-take. One of his lieutenants, a young man named Hiroto, almost eagerly stepped up to grip the boy's arm. For the first time Saburō betrayed some kind of emotion by letting a flicker of distaste creep over his even features. A moment later he showed a carefully blank face again.

"You might as well get used to that, beautiful," Hiroto suggested to him as he hadn't failed to notice the tiny lapse. Promptly, Saburō's step faltered ever so slightly.

"If you can't handle him, I can take that over from you," Katsuo, Haruie's other lieutenant, teased his friend.

"I don't think Naoe-dono will respond favorably to either of you getting too friendly with him", Haruie threw in calmly.

"Sheer waste if you ask me, Haruie-gimi", Hiroto bluntly gave his opinion on the matter as he led Saburō outside.

"I agree", Katsuo said bemusedly. "Will Naoe-dono know at all what to do with him?"

"It's none of our concern", Haruie shrugged unfazed by the two of them speaking that openly. They had grown up together in Haruie's family home near Kasugayama. When he'd been allowed to join Kenshin-kō's latest campaign, they hadn't hesitated to come along. He probably should have reprimanded them for their lack of decorum more often, but he knew he didn't have it in him to exercise such strict a discipline among his men. "There might be sides of him we never get to see." He had to stifle a laugh as he said so.

Haruie didn't know Naoe Nobutsuna that well – several years of age separated them. If they ever crossed one another's paths, it was usually during strategy meetings which Haruie was allowed to attend as long as he kept quiet. Either way, Haruie didn't feel they would have had a lot to say to each other. _Cold _was actually the quality most often attributed to the general and – as far as Haruie was able to tell – for a good reason.

The others clearly weren't in the mood of abandoning the topic any time soon.

"You know rumor has it the only time he ever embraced his wife was when she was scared of a thunderstorm."

"Well, everyone knows he even married her just for the sake of being adopted by old Sanetsuna-dono."

"A real shame," Katsuo sighed. "They say she is a beautiful lady."

"He truly must have ice-water running through his veins. Or does he let it all out on the battlefield?"

"Possible", Haruie figured. "He's still young after all, not that much older than we are. He's bound to have… urges."

The thought was indeed puzzling that only a few years ago, Naoe had been a rookie to warfare, going on campaign for the first and – Haruie grimaced – being made run errands such as this one…

He sneaked another glance at the slender figure walking between them. Hōjō Saburō didn't give the slightest indication that he was taking notice of anything they were talking. Wasn't he the least bit curious about the man who held custody over him now, Haruie wondered.

Then again, when it came to imagining how Naoe would take to being given this lad, he was at a complete loss, too.

/\/

Already, Saburō thought, he was a thing to them. They felt that they could talk absolutely freely within his earshot. A slave had no voice nor hearing – or the right to be heard. Part of this explained why they weren't thinking twice about adopting such a disrespectful tone when they were talking about the man he'd been given to.

On the other hand, this behavior bewildered Saburō somewhat: if Oda Nobunaga considered it necessary to honor him with a reward and publicly announce it, too, Naoe must have done something right in the course of this war and should have commanded other soldiers' respect as a result. Then again, _bushi _from one and the same household were often badmouthing each other behind their backs. And success bred jealousy, of course.

For the first time Saburō vaguely considered what kind of man Naoe Nobutsuna might be. He hadn't seen a lot of the Uesugi army leaders so far. Most of the war he'd spent behind the walls of Odawara castle, and now that the war was over, they'd kept him in confinement. Yesterday when they'd brought him to Oda Nobunaga's tent to hear his sentence, he might have had a chance to take a closer look at some of them. However, he had been too much out of it all to pay them much attention leave alone figure out which of them was Naoe Nobutsuna. The only Uesugi noble he had come in contact with was the one who had witnessed his uncle Genan's suicide. It was the very same man who had led him away from the assembly after learning of his brothers' fate.

Maybe it's him, Saburō wondered. He had never learned the man's name, but it had been written all over his face that – had the decision been up to him – he'd have granted Saburō an honorable death right then and there. If he had to surrender himself to someone, he much rather would have to this benevolent-seeming man.

However, Kakizaki had mentioned that Naoe was young. The general from yesterday was middle-aged at best. The thought of younger men – their inherent boastfulness, their ambitions, their animal instincts – immediately brought the Matsuda brothers to his mind. For some reason, Saburō imagined someone like that in the place of the faceless Uesugi general. With burly hands and little concern for anybody's wellbeing but his own.

Walking besides Kakizaki and his men, he felt like a man approaching his own execution ground. No, this felt worse. Execution would have meant that it would all be over soon. For him, every step brought him closer to a future where every day would provide for new, unknown distress.

A vicious thought entered his head as Kakizaki and the guards brought him on board of a bark which would take them to the other side of the bay where the Uesugi camp was situated. There were those who came back from death, weren't there? Tales told of vengeful spirits who haunted the living, those who had harmed them, caused their suffering, driven them to their deaths.

And wouldn't that be a worthy final chord for the Hojo? Their youngest and weakest, the only one of them who hadn't yet completed training as a _bushi _defying death, retaliating his clan's demise. It might very well be passed on as a myth for future generations. The wind freshened, resounding loudly in his ears. It was an idea born of madness in the face of what awaited him, he knew.

But once born, the idea sank into his mind with tiny barbs.

"Anchors aweigh!" The order being yelled from the navigating bridge brought Saburō back to what was happening around him. He watched a whole group of men jumping at the command and starting to loosen the heavy anchor. The anchor's chain was coiled right next to him.

As they were putting out to sea, Saburō's eyes roamed the water surface. The interplay of clouds and sunshine made it glitter with silver, blinding at one moment, soothing the next. The practicality of his suicide almost bewildered him. He didn't have to ask for his captors' permission to become a vengeful spirit. And the sea was there, as it always had been, providing him with the necessary means.

As soon as they reached the other side of the bay, the soldiers from before cast the anchor again. There were five of them, Saburō registered absentmindedly, the necessary amount for a weight that heavy. Again his eyes sought out the anchor chain. A quick glance over his shoulder showed that Kakizaki and his men weren't paying him close attention for the time being.

Knowing it was now or never, Saburō put his foot into the rapidly uncoiling chain.

The pull was like nothing else he'd ever felt. He was gripped and pulled overboard in less than the blink of an eye. The board was iron-hard, leaving his arm and thigh with bruises he would never see now. Then the sea drowned out everything else. The anchor sank quickly and so did he. The impact might have made him slightly dizzy, Saburo thought, but his eyes slowly opened and adjusted to Benzaiten's realm.

It was beautiful, swirls of green and silver. In a way it was befitting to end his life in such a manner when the sea had always played such an important role in it. Maybe the water was soothing to his turbulent feelings from before, maybe this memory of his early childhood triggered a general need for reconciliation with the world. Either way, his anger and vindictiveness had all but evaporated. Now, all of a sudden, he was only sad.

Familiar faces rose before his inner eye. His father, a powerful, all-encompassing presence in his mind as he grew up; his uncle Genan, the scars of a warrior all over his body when he bared it during his final moments alive; Ujiteru-ani, his hands (slender and long-fingered just like Saburo's own) as they guided his around his first flute, his first bow, the hilt of his first _bokken…_

In his mind's eye, the light fell through the clouds illuminating his oldest brother's garden. The wind pulled at his hair as he rode along the beach of Odawara. The bells of Soun temple sounded in his ears ile a faraway echo of happier times.

_I want it,_ Saburō realized dimly. _Shame, loss, slavery notwithstanding, I want my life. _

But the anchor steadily pulled him down. He reached down to loosen the chain around his ankle but this simply proved a foolish undertaking. He could hardly reach down and the chain sat tightly around his foot. Some deity seemed to mean well with him today, though. When he shook his foot, his shoe came lose and

As if his decision had triggered help from outside being provided, he noticed someone else in the water above him. A strong hand gripped his forearm. The other moved with forceful strokes, pulling him upward towards the light. And he was just as powerless as he'd been when the anchor's weight pulled him down. Saburō could tell they were coming closer to the surface by the rising temperature of the water around him.

On the last meters, consciousness left him. The next thing he knew was that he was lying on his side, coughing, belching up water. Then sweet, blessed air was streaming into his bursting lungs.

"That's a good lad," someone murmured to him, stroking back his dripping hair from his face. His lungs hurt. His breathing was erratic at first, never able to take his fill of air. There was yelling all around him, he noticed only within the blink of an eye before he was roughly pulled to his feet.

"Give him a moment!" He finally recognized Kakizaki's voice and looked up searching for the young man. He was standing next to an older Uesugi officer whose features strongly resembled his and the middle-aged general Saburō had met the day before in the inner yard.

Between them, Saburō briefly met an unfamiliar pair of eyes, strangely pale against the clouded sky. They were examining him coolly, establishing maybe whether he was going to stay alive. For whatever reason, in his hazy state of mind the gaze from those ice marbles seemed to go straight through the various layers of numbness that had wrapped themselves around his mind.

They belonged to a warrior in his twenties, tall with long limbs and broad shoulders. He was wearing no helmet, just his armor. His hair was tied up in a small knot. A few strands had come lose and were flying in the wind.

Something about the way he carried himself made Saburō's eyes linger on his chest. He held his head high and kept his shoulders straight, but even so he seemed to be in pain. Underneath the armor, there were bandages visible. Saburō knew what they were for: an arrow wound the man had suffered the day before when he'd attacked the entrance gate of Odawara castle and been shot from right above.

Saburō knew.

He knew because he'd been the one to shoot the arrow.

/\/


	3. Sixteen years eight months thirteen days

**Author's note: **on we go! I simply love how many positive responses I got from you about the idea and setting of this fic :-) That really makes me want to go on writing!

Enjoy :-)

/\/

**Sixteen years, eight months, thirteen days**

/\/

There were those in the Uesugi camp who claimed Kakizaki Haruie still too young and inexperienced at his mere sixteen years to be campaigning alongside his father. Steering clear of such fruitless discussions on principle, Naoe's opinion on the matter was only formed now when the young man, tossing his dripping wet hair out of his bright-red face, furiously shouted at his father in front of the gathered crowd: "What? Should I just have let him drown?!"

Naturally, Kakizaki Kageie had a word or two to say about is only son jumping overboard after someone else's slave. Said son reacted to the rebuke with complete incomprehension and let everyone in his environment in on the sentiment.

This lack of self-control seemed astonishing to Naoe. The best one could do when reprimanded by an elder was take the blame with a straight face – there was no use in arguing back as Naoe himself had found out the hard way some twenty years ago. One should think that any son of a retainer's of Kenshin-ko must have gone through similar experiences, but Haruie acted as if he'd been badly wronged. His education sincerely seemed to have lacked. Instead of further reprimanding his son, Kakizaki Kageie murmured something about how death would have been more merciful on the Hojo child.

_Why, it's always good to be held in such high esteem,_ Naoe thought sarcastically. Kageie-dono would do better to spare such delicacies for people who had fought on his own side.

This was war. There was no place here for sentimentalities. The Hojo had known what was at stake, what awaited them and their loved ones if they lost, but they hadn't hesitated to attack the Uesugi when they'd been at war with the Oda and the Satomi already. Kenshin-ko had been given no choice but to join Nobunaga, even though he and most of his senior officers were loath to ally with their erstwhile archenemy.

His eyes sought out the soaked bundle on the ground. So this was what he'd been gifted with, he thought suppressing a grimace. A suicidal child.

He had forgotten his name, Naoe suddenly realized as the boy was pulled to his feet none too gently which prompted the younger Kakizaki to step in again. It was a common name, not starting with Uji as did the names of all the other Hojo brothers.

That was a little odd, come to think of it.

Naoe was standing by calmly watching the guards approach, his prize between them. Eyes the color of wild honey travelled over him for a moment. It evoked a strange reaction in him, almost a sensation, like being touched by the midday sun. Naoe's eyes narrowed. Perhaps he was running a fever from his injury.

There was a saying, wasn't there, about how true beauty cannot be tarnished, he dimly recalled. Having just been fished out of brackish water, pale with the shock of nearly drowning, wet strands of hair clinging to his cheeks, there was no mistaking the boy for anything other than beautiful.

He was fairer than Osen, even.

They were waiting for his orders. Naoe cleared his throat. "Take him to camp. Jiro will see to him." It wasn't exactly a profound decision on his part to hand the boy over to his armorer, but Jiro would do just as well as any other of his men. Time would tell what to do with his prize, he thought suppressing a sigh.

"Naoe." Irobe stepped closer as soon as the boy was out of earshot. "Please be thoughtful of how you treat Saburo."

Saburo, right. That was his name. "Most certainly", Naoe replied automatically. "May I ask why you feel the need to point that out to me?"

Irobe gave him a stern look. "It's unusual for a member of such a high-ranking family to be enslaved, even during wartime, you know that. My feeling is that Kenshin-ko will have a word with you on all this after your return to Echigo."

Naoe winced inwardly. So on top of everything else, Nobunaga's so-called reward might cause strains between him and his daimyo.

"Don't forget who and what he is," Irobe urged him. "He was born and bred for a different kind of life."

"How could I." Naoe knew he sounded cold and disdainful, Irobe's frown told him so. His wound hurt. His patience with the whole situation was wearing thin. His prize held no value for him, but possessed the potential to cause all kinds of trouble.

He almost regretted that the boy hadn't been successful in his attempt at drowning.

/\/

Ironically, the night after his life had almost come to a watery end, Saburo dreamt of fire.

In his dream, he was right in the middle of it, in full armor, kneeling on tatami mats in the hall of what he believed was an old castle. A firebrand was raging through the ancient timberwork above him. Shouts resounded through the distant hallways, but he couldn't recognize them as belonging to his men or the foe storming the castle.

He had to make an end. Sparks were falling from the ceiling, his hands closed tightly around the hilt of his sword…

He awoke with a start, pushing himself up on one elbow. He was lying on a tatami mat covered by a thin woolen blanket both of which had probably seen better days. He'd been shown his sleeping place in a corner of the tent Naoe's footmen and servants were sharing. Surrounded by those men, their calm breathing and snoring, he had fallen asleep eventually, the day's events still occupying his thoughts to the very last moment.

And now that he was awake they came to life quickly, taking off right where he'd left them the night before.

His attempt at vengeance of the supernatural kind had failed before he'd ever truly started it. Saburō believed in such things. His ideas of how to go about it might be vague at best, but there was no doubt in his mind that it could be done.

Just not by him. His desire for vengeance was outweighed by far by his fear and disgust of what awaited him at the hands of Naoe. It was the prospect of being used in such a manner that had propelled him towards his attempt at suicide. Not his family's honor was right at the center of things but his own selfish desire to escape such humiliation.

Again he thought of the frigid look of the one whom he now had to call his lord. There was no sympathy to be expected from such a stern man. He probably wouldn't do it right away – not with that injury plaguing him. But once he was well again…

Saburō berated himself for not having better aim, for having missed out on his sole opportunity to do away with this man who had after months of siege, after putting them through famine and any hardship imaginable, breached through their defenses without them being able to stop him.

And now that man was going to do the same with him.

Saburo's nails painfully dug into the palms of his hands. As a matter of fact, he knew his line of thought to be illogical. Had he not ended up with Naoe there was an endless line of others eager to fill his place. They were all the same, those men, all full of hatred for the Hōjō. Many would have taken the opportunity of making their abasement complete by subjecting the only surviving family member to their personal gratification.

For the time being, he was better off with the wounded man, Saburo assumed. Of course, it was merely a question of time until the general started to recover and then he'd remember that he never got to try out his prize…

"So you're awake."

Saburo was startled from his thoughts by a jovial voice. Two men were leaning in the doorway, watching him.

"Then you can set to work."

/\/

Irobe spotted Saburo walking between tents in the part of the Uesugi camp that belonged to Naoe's men. He briefly considered going over and speak with him for a moment, to let him know that he was going to talk to Kenshin-ko on his behalf. But he shied from instilling hope in the youth, knowing that he couldn't make any promises he might not be able to keep later on. It was difficult to say which view Kenshin-ko would take.

He had sent a messenger to Echigo the very night when Nobunaga had announced that Saburo was to become Naoe's reward for his role in the war.

Irobe had known of Saburo's wish to commit suicide and felt remorse that he couldn't grant it. But this was so much worse than what he could have imagined. He had hinted as much in his letter to the Uesugi daimyo, but it was most urgent that Kenshin heard about this from him directly.

/\/

"So what are you going to do with him?" Nagahide asked conversationally.

Naoe didn't answer as he poured himself another cup of sake. He'd never been much of a drinker, more often than not the lone sober person in a hall full of inebriated noblemen at Kasugayama castle, but he felt that the alcohol somewhat dulled the pain of his injury.

It had been smarting the first day and night, then subsided into a throbbing ache. By now it was a strangely warm kind of pain that seemed to stretch over his entire chest. Never having been wounded to that part of the body before, he couldn't say whether it was healing properly. He took it as a good sign, though, that he wasn't running a fever.

"You can't exactly set him to work in the kitchen at home, you know."

Naoe suppressed the slight irritation creeping over him. Nagahide hadn't named the person he was talking about, but then, he didn't need to. Talk could be only of the Hojo brat. "I haven't given it a lot of thought."

It was the plain truth. He had much more important things on his mind. Unfortunately, everybody else seemed to want to get back to the topic continuously.

"Have you considered trading him?" Nagahide asked as if reading his mind.

Naoe threw a look over his shoulder. "Are you offering?" he asked, only half joking.

Nagahide snorted. "Not very likely."

Was it? Naoe frowned. There were those in the camp who seemed to understand Saburo's value – a value that to him was nonexistent or he simply couldn't see it yet. All the _bushi_ who came by just to throw a glance at him, Irobe with his thinly veiled concern for the boy's well-being, Nagahide who thought more practical but wouldn't let the topic rest either…

_I don't see the reason why everyone is making such a fuss over this child._

/\/

"Has he spoken yet?" The taller of Saburo's overseers enquired from the other then, upon being answered with a shake of the head, turned to look Saburo in the eye and ask. "You can talk, can't you, boy?"

Saburo briefly met his gaze and nodded. They were cousins, these two who assigned his tasks to him, but they couldn't have been more different. Ichiro, the cook, was tall and gaunt with a deep voice and bushy eyebrows. Jiro, the armorer, was smaller and of considerable girth. Swift movements of his chubby hands accompanied everything he said.

"Good." Ichiro paused. "Or not so good since he won't talk to us."

"Even without talking, he's saying quite a lot", Jirō said with a faint chuckle.

Saburō focused on the bowls he was cleaning as if he'd never been presented with anything more special and fascinating. It was easier this way, he thought. Over time, maybe they would even assume that he was a bit slow in the head.

"Right now he's saying we can drop dead for all he cares."

The contrary was true, actually. All of Saburo's senses were tuned in to his environment of which he still couldn't say to which extent it was hostile or friendly. One thing was for certain, though: the cook and the armorer were much less hesitant to order him around than Kakizaki Haruie had been. There was no doubt in their mind that – whoever he had been before – he was now one of their own. A servant.

"It could be worse", Ichiro sounded bemusedly. "I had an apprentice once who would never stop talking. Even babbled on in his sleep. At least young Saburo here won't grate my nerves like that one did."

"Now we have Ichirō, Jirō and Saburō, what do you know!"

"I'm certain that's why they picked him for Nobutsuna-dono. Can't think of any other reason, at least. "

Saburo sighed inwardly. So far, the servants of the Naoe family seemed to be an amazingly cheerful bunch. It wasn't exactly what he'd expected of the entourage of Nobutsuna-dono. The man didn't exactly come across as a quipster.

He spent the morning with kitchen duties under Ichiro's watchful eyes. As the son of a daimyo, he was used to being presented with the results of those efforts, but he had never prepared food himself or cleaned tableware. Apparently he wasn't making too much of a mess of things, although Ichiro laughed heartily at his attempts to chop vegetables ("That's not a sword you're holding, you know!"). It might have been the hour of the snake when a page came in and murmured something to Ichiro which had the man quickly set to action.

Ichiro prepared a tablet with a cast-iron teapot and several _chawan_ which the page wanted to take from his hands, but Ichiro shook his head. "A taciturn person like our Saburo here is perfectly cut out for serving tea to Nobutsuna-dono and his guest", he remarked and pressed the small tablet into Saburo's hands. "I'll show you the way to Nobutsuna-dono's tent. Come on, Saburo, don't dawdle."

/\/

"Oda-dono." Naoe sank to his knees. Saburo nearly dropped the tablet. "This is a most unexpected honor."

Frozen with shock, Saburo stayed hidden behind one of the _shoji_ parting the tent into a main room and a small vestibule. Of course, Ichiro hadn't thought it necessary to mention _who _was the guest Naoe was receiving. He was supposed to bring them fresh tea, but he felt that wild horses couldn't drag him into that room now. He hadn't forgotten how Oda Nobunaga had looked at him right after sealing his fate by giving him to Naoe.

Saburo certainly had no desire to come across that man ever again, but he found himself sinking to his knees, placing the tray on the ground, careful not to make any noise. He brought his face close to a fissure in the _shoji_'s framework through which he was able to peer into the darkened room. He could see the two men kneeling opposite each other, each holding a tea cup. To his relief, they could make do without what he was carrying on his tray.

"You are heading home already, Naoe-dono?" Nobunaga asked. "I was under the impression you'd oversee the partitioning of the Hojo realms for Uesugi-dono."

"My lord, since I am not to be granted with Hojo soil, Kenshin-ko nominated Yasuda-dono to take part in the conferences for the Uesugi."

There was something there, Saburo thought, an undercurrent he didn't understand, as if both men were speaking in hints and never saying right out what they really meant. Nobunaga's next choice of topic seemed to confirm this.

"Your prize. Is he to your liking?"

Saburo breathed in sharply, but Naoe merely inclined his head as if he had been expecting the question. "He certainly is exquisite."

A phrase, Saburo thought. Naoe hadn't as much as looked at him, if you didn't count their brief encounter right after he'd been fished out of Sagami bay. He was reasonably sure there had been nothing exquisite about him, then.

Nobunaga's gaze swept through the room. "Since he so pleases the eye, I assumed you would employ him as a page. I had expected to see him here."

Naoe took a small gulp from his tea cup. "My apologies, Oda-dono. I sent him on an errand I'm afraid."

_Why is he lying,_ Saburo wondered, but he knew better than make himself known right now. He stayed as quiet as a mouse, safely hidden behind the frail paper screen. Naoe wouldn't call for him, not after an outright lie like that. His frantically beating heart calmed down a bit.

"I have given the matter some thought during the last days. I wonder if I wasn't acting impetuously when I bestowed him on you."

"I was most honored to receive him", Naoe responded lithely. "An unusual gift, coveted by many." A brief silence settled over the room. "What else of the Hojo spoils could compare – assuming that you wished to offer something in his place?"

A sick feeling spread in his stomach. Had Oda come to take him back? Naoe hadn't harmed a hair on his head so far. Oda Nobunaga would have no such restraints. And – worst of all, perhaps – the Matsuda brothers were part of his entourage.

" – as Odawara is."

He had missed part of the conversation, but the mentioning of his birth place recaptured his attention. To his surprise, Oda lightly threw his head back and laughed. "They say you have ambitions. Nobutsuna-dono."

A faint smile tugged at Naoe's mouth. "I was merely considering the value of my prize."

Oda laughed again. "Exquisite as he may be, he is not worth a castle."

Relief had him nearly sag against the _shoji_. He was to stay with the Uesugi, then. Eavesdropping, Saburo decided that it was only natural if he didn't understand everything the two men had been talking about. But the last hint of Naoe's he believed to grasp completely, especially in the light of what the two men had been discussing earlier, the partition of the Hojo realms.

_He feels cheated,_ Saburo understood all of a sudden. _He probably hoped for a fiefdom, ideally Odawara. Instead he has to make do with me!_

He almost started laughing. Could that be true? That he'd been given to the one man in the enemy camp who wouldn't know how to make use of this possession?

/\/

Seeing the warlord off, Naoe almost would have liked to laugh if the whole matter weren't so annoying. It was true then what Nagahide had said, men would offer. Nobunaga would even. But as long as he didn't get Odawara in exchange, Naoe saw no reason to leave the castle to him _and_ hand over the boy to this daimyo who had insulted him.

On the contrary, it was highly satisfying to keep Saburo out of Nobunaga's reach. However, he sensed a potential conflict here and wasn't eager to push his luck. Better to leave right away and take the boy with him. Honestly, what did they all see in that scrawny child?

It might not be convenient to travel with such an injury, but he didn't feel much worse than the day before. He crossed the room to the side entrance of his tent with a view to give the necessary orders to his officers.

The object of their conversation was standing right behind the screen, tea tray in hands, giving him a wary look from widened amber eyes.

_You heard? _

Well, at least the boy could think straight enough not to walk in when he was supposed to be "on an errand" even though he'd probably been instructed to bring them refreshments. That would have made for an awkward situation. With a movement of his head he directed Saburo to enter the main tent and place the tea tray there.

The boy cast down his eyes and gracefully stepped past him. Naoe wondered how much he had understood of their conversation. Saburo was – what? Sixteen, seventeen maybe? It could be assumed that he was familiar with how men dealt with their needs between themselves. As the son of a daimyo, it was unlikely that he had engaged in any such relationship at his age, but then again – hadn't Nagahide mentioned something about the boy having been sent to Kai as a hostage? He might have caught somebody's eye. A hostage had barely more rights than a slave…

And that was also what Irobe had been hinting at, Naoe suddenly understood. He had wanted to advise that Naoe keep his hands of the boy due to his noble descent.

Naoe snorted as he went outside, becoming aware of the pain in his chest again after the conversation had distracted him for a small while. The old man needn't have troubled himself. Battered as he was, such avidities were about the last thing on his mind.

/\/

"Sent him away, did he?" Matsuda Katsuhide stroked his chin. In deep thoughts, he reigned in his horse when it started to sidle about.

"I heard him say so to Nobunaga-sama." Ukon regarded him closely.

Katsuhide had been thrilled when Satomi-dono had told him that they would accompany Oda Nobunaga to the Uesugi camp where the supreme commander had business to discuss with Naoe Nobutsuna. His brother might have had something to say about his eagerness, but Takahide hadn't been present when the order came. After their last conversation on the topic, Katsuhide hadn't been keen on clueing him in. This was something he would take only for himself.

However, Saburo had slipped through his fingers once again.

It could be a trick. Naoe might have been lying when he claimed that Saburo had left the camp. At least, Katsuhide thought with his eyes on Naoe's tent, it was what he himself would do if he were running the risk of having Saburo taken away from him – which might very well be what Oda Nobunaga had in mind when he called on Naoe. Katsuhide wondered if Naoe had taken the boy yet.

"Maybe it's better that way", Yoshiteru remarked lightly. "With the way you were talking about him, I was afraid you'd try and steal him…" He fell silent at the look in Katsuhide's eyes and raised a brow. "You never mentioned how well acquainted you actually were with young Saburo-dono."

The others remained quiet. He was the only one of them who hadn't seen Saburo when Nobunaga had summoned him in front of the assembled nobles right after the fall of Odawara. Afterwards, their talk of him wouldn't cease and Katsuhide had caught onto that. He looked at Yoshiteru. "I've seen enough of him to know I would break away from the army to get to him – and if it were for only one night."

Their eyes were on him, catching on the implication of what he was saying. Talk was of Naoe leaving for Echigo soon, catching up with Saburo along the way no doubt. Following him and robbing his prize from him should be a simple thing.

Katsuhide smiled. With him, they were five by coincidence.

/\/

"Come on, Saburo, don't dawdle!"

He picked up speed as he helped stow the tent's rain fly on a carriage. Orders had been given all of a sudden to pack things up. They were leaving for Echigo. Saburo wondered if this rushed departure had anything to do with what he had overheard between Naoe and Nobunaga earlier today.

Their conversation and his own little encounter with Naoe afterwards continued to occupy him. The man had appeared in front of him so suddenly, all he could do was stare at him and Naoe…

He…

_He looked at me as if at an insect,_ Saburo thought, surprised that this kind of thing would get under his skin. He blamed the fact that his life had been turned upside down, the vulnerable position he was in. He had difficulty adjusting to all the codes and regulations that came with his inferior position. It didn't bother him with other Uesugi nobles if they treated him with disdain – on the contrary, he much preferred that to blatant stares which left nothing to his imagination.

Naoe's gaze was different, but Saburo wasn't sure if the man's total lack of interest wasn't even more insulting. There was something chilling about it.

Ichiro and Jiro seemed pleased with the orders they'd been given, they didn't even try to hide how happy they were with the prospect of seeing "the family home" again. They were referring to the Naoe family home of course. To Saburo, this was just another hint at how closely bound all these people were to Naoe.

As for Saburo, he was leaving his own family home. For good, as far as he could tell. It was no longer his choice if he might ever return. Then again, he had never truly been free to choose whether he wanted to stay in Odawara before. It was the only home he'd ever had, but he had lost it before, the prospect of return more than vague. It was naive to think he would have been spared being sent away again if the Hojo had won the war.

"Where is the family home?" he asked, referring to Naoe's.

"Oho, he's talking!"

Saburo rolled his eyes. Well, he had brought it onto himself with his self-induced silence. He'd intended to keep it, too, but the need to have at least a vague idea where he was going proved stronger.

"The ancestral home of the Naoe family", Ichiro answered his question. "It's about one and a half hour on horseback north of Kasugayama."

"It will take us about three weeks to get to Echigo province", Jiro added. "A rider would make the distance in much shorter time, but with all the equipment and all these people on foot…"

Echigo. Kasugayama. The familiar names triggered something in his mind. Strategy meetings, sitting in silence, listening carefully to every word his brothers exchanged with the Hojo retainers. Ujimasa had mentioned those places from time to time when the conversation had turned to Uesugi Kenshin.

"Don't _dawdle_." Jiro stressed again. It seemed to become a catch phrase of theirs, but Saburo hardly cared.

Kenshin had been but a silhouette in this war, a mirage beyond the mountains in the snowy land he ruled. Nevertheless, he must have made the decision to go to war alongside Nobunaga. Lots of the actions taken by the enemy soldiers must have been commanded by him. He had as much responsibility in the demise of the Hojo as did Nobunaga.

Saburo's thoughts were spinning. He hadn't been able to lift a weapon against Nobunaga. And he hadn't been granted revenge against the Matsuda brothers. But Kenshin… Kenshin was a different matter.

Maybe, Saburo wondered, he'd be able to kill _him_.

His life was forfeit either way. Rather than spend what was left of it in servitude, he might enter the provinces of the Uesugi with a blade up his tattered sleeve. He had shot men with arrows, how difficult could it be to take a knife to someone's heart?

Provided that he ever got close to Kenshin.

That was where Naoe came in. The general was eager to return home, to his castle, his wife and his adoptive father. Who could blame him after months and months in the field… but before he was allowed to see his family he would most likely report to his supreme commander.

Yes. Naoe Nobutsuna, his strange, reluctant, disdainful slaveholder, would take him there, to Kasugayama. To where Kenshin was.

/\/

**Author's note: **it was said in one of the Drama CDs thatNaoe is actually from a historical place called Joensuu, but I couldn't find out where that's located exactly… if anybody knows where it is, please feel free to let me know :-)


End file.
